


No Heart For Me [Like Yours]

by starfleetdicks



Series: McSpirkHolidayFest Prompt Fills [4]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: Mirror Universe, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Mirror Universe, Multi, Red String of Fate, Scars, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 20:55:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7985899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starfleetdicks/pseuds/starfleetdicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gently, he reached to touch Jim and Leonard’s wrists. “To love each other?”</p><p>Jim’s smile was as bright as a supernova. “Yes.”</p><p>Three McSpirkDay/50th anniversary day and soulmate-trope inspired fics for mcspirkholidayfest on tumblr. Happy 50th Anniversary, Star Trek!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Contact AU: Names on Wrist Trope

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a McSpirkHolidayFest prompt by thedenofcaseywolfe: _I need more Soulmate/Mate AU's in my life. Whether that's a name-on-the-wrist/first-words-you-say Soulmate thing, or mates in an A/B/O, Vampire/Werewolf, Sentinel/Guide AU. I am seriously open to any and all of those scenarios. I have a mighty need for fated mates in some form basically. Bonus points if you include the new movie in some way._
> 
> Title take from Maya Angelou's quote: “In all the world, there is no heart for me like yours. In all the world, there is no love for you like mine.”

Sybok sat at Spock’s side, smiling and drumming his fingers on his knee. His older brother had been jittery all morning and none of Sarek’s disapproving looks could settle him. They had been monitoring the Terrans for centuries, long before Sybok and Spock had been born. Sarek had once said it was T’Pau, as a young woman, who had urged the Federation to take interest in the small blue world. Their clan matriarch was now well into her twilight years. To be adults and handpicked as part of the first contact party was an honor, one Sybok had been waiting for his whole life. 

Spock had grown up watching Sybok emulate the images and videos of Terrans that were transmitted by a stranded Vulcan scouting party. Instead of the stoic Vulcan way, Sybok fully embraced emotionalism. He smiled, laughed, touched without restraint, and generally seemed adamant in causing their shared father to die as a direct result of shame he felt. 

Unlike Sybok, Spock had never felt interest in Terra. It sat too far away to fathom as real. It mattered little that Spock had met Andorians and Tellarites. They had been apart of his world since his birth. They were a reality he could see and hear. Terrans seemed a far away fantasy that Sybok had concocted. As unreal as marriages of choice or domesticated le-matya. 

Terra was of little concern to Spock, who was forever rubbing the skin of his inner wrist. All Vulcans had names on their bodies, spelling out their destined mates. These were sacred bonds, not to be ignored, especially once pon farr began. Sybok may have disappointed their father with his emotionalism but Spock had disappointed Sarek with his fate. On Spock’s wrist was not the familiar Golic of their world, nor was it Andorian or Tellarite. Spock could not recognize what was written on his skin. No Vulcan had seen the written language before. There were no books in the archives and no elders who could translate it either. 

Spock’s mate was not of the Federation. And soon, his time would draw near. Without his mate, he would suffer and die as all unmated Vulcans before him had. 

He shifted, turning his gaze toward the screen that projected their route and estimated time of arrival.

“Two minutes, Spock,” Sybok answered when he noticed where Spock’s gaze had wandered too. As if Spock could not see it for himself. 

“Yes,” Spock said as flatly as he could manage. “Father, where will we make landfall?”

Sarek did not look back from his control panel, intent on his task. “There are many land masses on this planet. We will be landing as close to the site of the warp-capable ship’s origin as possible. The elders want us to contact the Terran or Terrans responsible for this advancement of their species.”

Sybok touched his ear, worrying the pointed tip for a moment before tapping his translator earpiece. “Terrans will speak a language we have never heard. Hopefully the VSA’s advancement on translation technology will serve us well on this mission. Otherwise it will be an awkward encounter. How do you explain your intentions to a species when you can’t communicate with words?”

“Brace, we are touching down.”

Spock had not even felt their ship shudder through entry of the Terran atmosphere. He wondered what the gravity of Terra was like, how strong their atmosphere was. For a moment, he regretted not absorbing as much information about the Terrans as Sybok had. 

With a face pressed against one of the ship’s windows, Sybok shouted, “There are Terrans coming toward our ship! We must go greet them now!” He jumped from his seat, yanked back by his seatbelts. Sybok hastily undid them and rushed to the exit door, pushing it open, barely containing his excitement enough to let Sarek exit before him. 

Their father sighed before pulling himself to full height and adopting his stoic mask. Spock trailed behind them, half hiding behind Sybok. There were Terrans gathering, just as Sybok had promised. There was a hush in the air as Sarek paused on the ramp, giving the primitive species a moment to soak in their appearances. Sybok was practically vibrating with the need to rush headlong into the crowd but stayed rooted in place as well. 

Spock, for his part, was not looking at any Terran but instead staring with wide eyes at the verdant world stretched around them. Wherever he looked, green foliage and trees with lush leaves greeted him. It was nothing like the desert world he had grown up on, red and orange-toned. 

“I am Sarek of Vulcan.”

His father’s voice startled him enough that he refocused his attention on the Terrans, who had now bunched loosely together. One Terran stepped forward. His hair was a shock almost as devastating as the green world around him. It reminded Spock of the suns of Vulcan, so dazzling that you almost could not stare directly at them. The Terran shouted back at Sarek and, for a terrifying second, the translators were silent in their ears. 

Finally, “I am Jim Kirk. Sar-ek? I don’t understand your words.” 

It wa enough. The translators would be able to create rudimentary translations of their Vulcan language into Terran or, at least, that was their promised ability. 

“I am Sarek of Vulcan,” his father repeated. Sarek’s translator parroted in a robotic voice and Spock hoped the translation was correct. If they should offend this species... 

Jim grinned and Spock felt dazzled by that as well. 

Sybok stepped around Sarek almost as soon as the positive emotion bloomed on the Terrans face. “I am Sybok! A please to meet you. We are of the planet Vulcan and have come to you in peace.” The group of Terrans behind Jim seemed to sigh with what Spock believed was relief. Some had begun to mill around the ship, letting Jim head the meeting. 

“Wow. Aliens.” Jim whistled, low and long, “Nice ears.”

Spock has never heard the word “alien” before but Jim made it sound desirable. Sarek stepped to the side as they finally touched Terra’s ground. He left Spock exposed to the direct gaze of the Terran who moved closer immediately. Sybok pouted behind the Terran, clearly having expected to be the Vulcan of interest. 

Jim stuck his hand out, still smiling. “Welcome to Terra.” Jim heard the translation and frowned, repeating, “Terra.” Where the translator had substituted the word Vulcans were familiar with, Jim had said firmly Earth. 

Spock stared at his hand, at the sound of Earth ringing in his ears so soft in comparison to his own homeworld’s name. “Father,” he whispered, unsure of what to do, half scandalized. 

“Shield your mind and allow it. It must be a customary greeting. In a first contact, you must honor the other species’ cultural norms,” Sarek whispered, urging Spock forward with a gentle push to his back. 

Cautiously, Spock pushed his robe sleeve up and reached for Jim’s hand in return, feeling flush with the implications the touch would normally have on Vulcan. The contact was not uncomfortable once Jim finally held his hand. They stared at each other for a short moment before Jim’s eyes dropped to Spock’s wrist. His grip suddenly became tighter and he invaded Spock’s space in a heartbeat, suddenly talking too fast for the translator and igniting the nerves of Spock’s hand with excitement, confusion, fear. 

“Bones, Bones!” The translator finally caught up when Jim resorted to shouting only one word. Another Terran, who looked as if he had smelled something sour and was giving Sybok a disapproving look worthy of Sarek, rushed forward at Jim’s shouting. “Bones, look!” Jim touched Spock’s wrist with the tip of his finger, dragging it over one line of indistinguishable black. 

The other Terran stared in amazement before grabbing Jim’s shirt sleeve and yanking. Jim finally let Spock go, stumbling backward at Bones’ pull. “What?” He demanded but Bones was staring wide-eyed at Spock, who was flushed and breathing hard. 

Sarek tilted his head to the side and took Jim’s arm in his hand, pushing his sleeve up to inspect the Terran’s wrist. Spock held his own wrist in a vice grip but felt his knees go weak at what he saw on Jim. His own name in Golic was a stain on Jim’s tanned skin. Sarek let go of Jim to reach for Bones instead. Bones was not so accommodating as Jim, who was now bouncing as excitedly as Sybok tended to do. Bones jumped away from Sarek. 

“I’ll lift my own sleeve!” He shouted at Sarek, frowning deeply. On his wrist too, Spock’s name. Spock felt as if the world had tipped out from beneath him. 

Jim was at his side as Spock’s knees finally gave out, catching him. Bones seemed unable to help himself as he rushed forward as well, pulling out what looked like a primitive first aid kit. Sarek stood to the side, watching without expression as his son was fawned over. 

“On my son’s wrist, what does it say?” Sarek finally asked when Bones sat back on his heels, clearly unable to use anything in his kit on Spock, who was only in shock. 

Jim answered, “Our names! James and Leonard.” 

“That one is not named Bones?” Spock finally spoke, confused enough to vocalize it, as he stared at Leonard. The Terran was handsome, as handsome as Jim in more subdued colors. 

Leonard blushed and turned to look away, muttering something the translator could not decipher. Jim threw his head back with a deep laugh. “No, no. Bones is a nickname. His name is Leonard. Jim is my nickname.” 

“Leonard,” Spock said slowly, the name awkward on his tongue. “Jim. On Earth, what do the names mean?” He had to know if it was the same here, if these were his intended mates. On a world so far away, he imagined it was a fantasy. And yet, here was where his mates had been waiting for him. 

“People destined to be together,” Leonard answered wistfully, face smoothing into something gentle for the first time since Spock had laid eyes on him. 

Spock felt buoyed by the expression. Gently, he reached to touch Jim and Leonard’s wrists. “To love each other?”

Jim’s smile was as bright as a supernova. “Yes.”


	2. Mirror Universe AU: Shared Scars Trope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonus fic where Mirror!McSpirk are soulmates whose soulmate identifying marks are shared scars. 
> 
> Some hint of dubious consent (non-sexual), canon-compliant violence, cursing, and the use of scarification in place of tattoos.

Kirk had always found it a bit ridiculous of evolution to decide that shared scars would be the best way to pick mates to breed with. It wasn’t just because he had never found his mate, either. In the Terran Empire, there was no advancing without a bit of bloodshed and chaos. Kirk himself hosted a myriad of scars but none that were more distinguishable than the rest of his crew’s. If he turned his head at every facial scar, he’d have whiplash. 

It wasn’t like having a mate had stopped the world from being a brutal place anyway. Kirk had witnessed too many bonded pair murders to even feel vaguely sickened anymore. When he was a child, there had been stories at school of soulmates and happy endings. Kirk had quickly come to realize that such things didn’t really exist in the Empire. The only truths he had ever known were hunger and pain. 

So Kirk had never gone looking for his mate, had never intended to find one. 

Instead he mocked the very idea of by letting a seedy Starbase tattoo artist carve his body up. Scarification was a practice older than the Empire itself, practiced by primitive Terrans in the dark ages. He cut up his flank on the first shore leave the _ISS Enterprise_ was permitted. Geometric nonsense shapes that were meaningless but beautiful. Two years into their deep space conquests, he asked for his silver lady on his back. 

He should have known there were be retribution eventually. A handful of months as the scar began to solidify, two seemingly unconnected scars joined her. Kirk had almost missed their appearance, barely catching sight of them in the mirror. 

On one shoulder blade, a Vulcan lirpa and, on the other, a primitive Terran scalpel. 

Kirk didn’t have time to ponder their meanings while the Empire embroiled itself in battle with the Klingons, throwing the _ISS Enterprise_ into the thick of it. His silver lady barely limped back to an Empire outpost to undergo repairs. He had lost more than half of his crew, a first officer, and all but one nurse from the medbay. He was half out of his mind with bloodlust and rage when they gave him orders to stay grounded until they could fill his rosters again. 

His mood didn’t improve when he heard they had assigned him a Vulcan first officer. Vulcans were notoriously treacherous, hiding behind emotionless facades. Even if this one was half-human, Kirk wasn’t sure he could ever trust him. Sulu was enough of a pain in his ass as it was. Damn navigator tried to kill Kirk at every turn. 

The _ISS Enterprise_ all but blossomed under their unlikely matching, however. And in his first few weeks, the Vulcan officer had murdered an assassin gunning for the captain’s chair. Kirk could begrudgingly see the value in his new right hand man, he supposed. What really won Kirk over was the way Spock would go to his knees in front of the captain’s chair if Kirk asked. Well, commanded with a knife threatening involvement, but still. Spock would do it, willingly. Kirk ignored every flash of arousal that gave him until finally it stopped feeling like a suicidal idea to drag Spock into the captain’s quarters. 

Except Kirk’s luck had always been shit, the universe constantly ruining his good time. He found the match to his flank scar and nearly dug his nails through it the first time Spock fucked him. Every scar matched, down to a superficial cut at the corner of Kirk’s left nostril. 

Spock had only received one scarification tattoo in response to the ones that had appeared mysteriously on his body thanks to Kirk. The lirpa had been a concise, logical way to signal his identity to his mate. After all, Vulcan culture was all about mates and bonds. At least, that’s what Kirk found out. If he hadn’t thought the Vulcans weak before, he definitely did after hearing Spock explain how his species believed in destiny and _t’hy’la_ and kissing with fingertips. 

Kirk had no intention of feeling obligated to Spock thanks to their scars. He was convenient for sex and protection. Nothing more and nothing less. They were compatible, said the scars. No one ever said he had to _love_ the person who shared those scars. 

He found the first willing partner he could find after that discussion, a doctor in medbay. Dr. McCoy had always intrigued Kirk. He had blue eyes like a Terran summer sky and a temper as hot as a brush fire. The good doctor was a skilled surgeon and Kirk had heard tale of his legendary hands. 

McCoy made for a compelling distraction from Spock. It wasn’t until Kirk had manhandled the doctor onto all fours that it all came roaring back into sharp clarity because there was his silver lady, the lirpa, the damn scalpel. Kirk didn’t even look at McCoy’s thigh, just cut the doctor from his clothes and fucked deep into him until he could stop hearing Spock’s level voice telling him about fate and love. 

He avoided them both for weeks. It would have been months but they found out about one another immediately. 

Fate, Kirk thought, was an absolute bitch.


	3. AOS AU: Red String of Fate Trope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonus fic where AOS!McSpirk are not technically soulmates connected by the red string of fate. 
> 
> Some McCoy whomp/angst that all turns out well in the end.

"You can see them?” Kirk had asked once while they were curled together on Leonard’s dorm bed. 

Leonard McCoy had always known he was different. Ever since his mother had made him promise he wouldn’t play with the red strings crisscrossing all around him. Leonard had spent the better part of his childhood terrified of accidentally tripping over them. Promises to Scarlett McCoy were not to be taken lightly.

When he was thirteen, his mother gave him the birds and the bees and the red strings talk. 

The strings, as it turned out, were nature’s way of pairing together soulmates. Well, at least that’s what his mother called them. Leonard didn’t believe it then or now. Soulmates seemed a bit over the top and, besides, there had been holos exploiting that trope for centuries. The real kicker was that the strings could be manipulated. How could there be soulmates, Leonard thought, if someone could reach out and sever a tie with a simple thought? That was all it took, too. His mother had explained that intent and purpose governed those thin red strings and people who could see them. 

“You’re special, Len,” she whispered as she pushed the hair back from his face and kissed his forehead. He was special like his father, part of a small percentage of people in the world who could manipulate the strings. It was a power to be used only in dire straits; that was his mother’s rule. Leonard couldn’t think of an emergency where he’d ever want to touch the strings at the time. Of course, he had never imagined being in space either. 

He should have known that Jim Kirk was the root of all his exceptions. 

It was hard not to blame the strings for most of his life’s misfortunes. Rebelling against the notion had given him a costly divorce. Following his string had led him to Jim and a crazy career in the one place he had never wanted to go. That should have been enough misfortune for one life but there had been a second string. Leonard tried to ignore that string and its implications but of course he was in love with that damn green-blooded hobgoblin too. It would have been fine, should have been fine, except that Jim and Spock were not connected. 

If Leonard were ever to believe in soulmates, he would have put his money on those two. 

Maybe Jim felt it too because, despite that pulsating red string that led to Leonard, his stare was always directed toward Spock. 

“Where does mine lead?” Jim had a knack for asking about the strings whenever Leonard had his guard down. Jim was laid out on an exam table and Leonard’s mind was in a million places. 

After Yorktown, their lives had become quiet and peaceful. With Jim, things rarely stayed that way. Leonard reeled from the sudden change, one moment the medbay was quiet and the next Jim was inspiring his heart attack. Leonard ought to have known better. He couldn’t answer Jim’s question, no way in hell. It was less about Leonard worrying over their friendship. More about knowing what Jim wanted to hear. Leonard couldn’t lie to him, never was able to. The best lie he ever told Jim was that Leonard’s own string had been cut after Jocelyn. “You know I can’t, Jim. It’s not ethical. You should let things happen as they will.”

“You’d tell me,” Jim reasoned, lips pressed into a tight line, “if it was him. So it must be someone else.” He played with the thin medbay gown he was wearing, worrying a crease near the bottom edge and half exposing himself to the whole damn place. Leonard put a hand over Jim’s, trying to make him decent again. “I just can’t imagine it being someone else, Bones. I mean, I stumbled across the ambassador in a fucking ice cave! We’re drawn together, Bones, even in the elder Spock’s timeline. It’s... It has to be him. Who else could it be?”

It made Leonard ache. It wasn’t fair to be given the power to change fate and destiny. In another timeline, Leonard could believe it: Jim and Spock, always. How did this timeline get so fucked up then? Here, Leonard sitting on his cabin floor at night, crying into a bottle of Tennessee whiskey and trying to make the world right. Here, the one world where Jim and Spock weren’t tied to one another like two galaxies slowly colliding over a million lifetimes. Here, where Leonard loved them both and never dared to say it. 

Contrary to popular belief, not every impulse Leonard had was driven by Jim’s near-death experiences.

They were sitting together in the mess hall: Spock on his lute, Uhura singing, and Scotty looking like Uhura hung all the stars in the universe. Jim was near as bad, blinking so slowly that Leonard was sure he must have developed a second eyelid on some backwater planet. He couldn’t help himself but to watch Jim. By god, did he love him and he loved Jim happy more than he loved anything else. Even himself. 

So he drew the string between Jim and Spock because fuck the universe. This wouldn’t be the one timeline where Leonard watched them suffer apart from each other, even if it came at his own expense. Leonard had always been resigned to a life alone, apart from them both, watching from the sidelines. 

He waited until he was alone to cut his connections. Making a string was a helluva lot easier, Leonard realized, staring at the only reason he ever got on this damn ship to begin with. For the first time in his life, his hands were shaking. Coward, he thought and drank himself stupid. 

The strings stayed intact. 

It was easy for a time to pretend nothing had changed. Easy until Spock started to press lingering touches over Jim, in a way that he had never done to Leonard. Perfect, really, until Leonard caught them in an abandoned corridor, mumbling against each other’s lips. Even then it was infuriating, how _right_ they looked together. Nevermind how empty Leonard felt or how his chest felt like it could cave in. 

Jim cornered him, breathless. “You said it wasn’t him!” 

It was accusing but Leonard took it. He’d take anything Jim was willing to give him, desperate for it, turning toward Jim like a flower to the sun. God, did it make him burn to be the center of that attention. It singed him down to the bones because it _wasn’t Spock, damn you, it was me,_ but all Leonard could say was: “I never said a damn thing.” He turned his chin up, defiant, but he felt weak when Jim’s hands touched the wall on either side of his head, pinning him without touching. 

“You changed something. Your poker face is the worst. I can always tell when you’re lying. You did something, Bones!”

Leonard looked away; the blue of Jim’s eyes always reminded Leonard of the hottest part of a flame. 

“Stupid, worse, dumb-- it was you, wasn’t it?” Jim’s hand was on his chin, gripping it hard, pulling him back until they’re eye to eye again. And Leonard was lost, facing a supernova. “Oh god, Bones, you didn’t. Of course it was you. I’m an idiot. And you, for me and Spock, you... Wait!” Jim gasped it out, fisting his hands into Bones’ shirt instead, crowding him. “You didn’t sever us, right? I would never have wanted that. I... I want you; I just couldn’t think straight when everything felt wrong without Spock. I’ve been in love with you for years. I just thought... I thought it wasn’t possible. You said after Jocelyn but you lied to me, didn’t you? You ass! Tell me we’re still connected. Even if we aren’t, I’ll make it work!”

It wasn’t hard to believe Jim when he was so adamant, eyes shining. Leonard wanted this so bad, had been waiting so long. Their kiss was sloppy; Leonard surging forward and Jim slack-jawed until he remembered how to participate. 

“I couldn’t,” Leonard moaned into the kiss, rucking up the bottom of Jim’s shirt to _touch_ because he could. “I didn’t want to let you go, couldn’t. Five years in space, damn you, you owe me.” It was even harder to string the sentences together when Jim kissed under Leonard’s jawline but he had to focus. There was more. There was Spock, always Spock. “It’s not just you, though. I have two strings.”

Jim barely paused, half a second for his genius brain to figure it out. He sucked a dark mark into Leonard’s neck until Leonard was sure his knees would give out. “It’s Spock. He’ll be ecstatic. But he can wait. I gotta make up for some lost time.”

Leonard’s conversation with Spock was much more composed, nothing like the whirlwind Jim put him through. Spock didn’t kiss him, not in the Terran way at least. There was no mistaking the significance of their fingers ghosting over one another. 

It was Spock that finally best summed it up, touching the tips of his fingers to Leonard’s palm. “Even when I finally connected with Jim, I felt hollow. I had my suspicions about what it meant. My Elder often spoke with fond regard of his McCoy. I should have taken that as a hint. No matter the universe, there is no separating a triumvirate. I am glad we will not have to continue on without our most important piece: the heart.”

Leonard was almost positive Spock stole that line from a romantic holovid but he let it go, leaning in to brush a Terran kiss at the corner of Spock’s mouth. 

Soulmates, Leonard decided, was something he could warm up to.


End file.
